


The New Neverland

by mathildia



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Pan, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs, undercover cop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 08:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mathildia/pseuds/mathildia
Summary: Peter Pan arrives in Hyperion Heights and runs into an old friend.





	The New Neverland

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired somewhat by [this piece of fan art](http://anstay.tumblr.com/post/93317151655/nice-showcaptain-strip-club-au-peter-pan)

It’s been a week and Rogers has got used to doing this, something he never would have thought possible when he was being trained: trained with baby oil and pants with trick seams and leather. _So much leather_. And Weaver smirking when he’d said he’d never worn leather pants in his life. Weaver, who'd insisted on supervising all the training sessions for this undercover op at Hot Boys. Such devotion to duty. 

On the small stage, Rogers rolls his hips to the heavy bass, raises an arm above his head and curls it around the pole behind him. He finds this easy. Ruby, the dance teacher had asked if he’d had any movement training before. He’d shrugged, “I’m just a cop.”

The stage lights flash in his eyes. Time's nearly up. He flicks open the clasp of the leather harness and lets it fall away, leaving a beat before he rips off the pants. Underneath he wears a tiny pair of black underwear that barely hold him. He poses for moment, hands crossed behind is head. It might be just an uncover job, but it still hurts his feeling if he doesn’t get any tips. The crowd are quiet tonight, but he feels a hand on his hip, the crackle of a note being slipped into his underwear. He looks down, and sees, a boy.

The boy smiles. “Very enjoyable, _Captain Cock_.” He smirks as he says the stage name with a delighted precision. 

Weaver had laughed at him for objecting to the name. “You’re going to be dancing naked on stage and you’re worried about what name you’re called?”

Rogers looks a the boy again. “How did you get in here?” he says, crouching down and slipping off the stage. 

“How did I get in here? I own the place.” The boy grinned.

Rogers tries not to look astonished. “You’re Mr Darling?”

“I love it when the pretty ones have heard of me.”

“But you look so young,” Rogers says, then feels instantly shy at having made such a remark.

Darling shrugs. “I’ve had some work done,” he says, dismissively, and as he speaks, the lights shift and Rogers isn’t sure, for a moment, if the boy is really as young looking as he first thought. “I’d say you should try it,” Darling continues, “but you really don’t need it." He looks Rogers up and down, sucks on his bottom lip. "God, you’re, you’re just perfect, aren't you?”

“Thank you,” Rogers replies, then, with a flash of clarity, realising he should take this chance to get Darling alone. “Would you care for a private dance? I assure you I’m perfect all the way down.” He winks.

Darling still has a hand on Rogers’s waist, he slips it down, across his hip and down his thigh. “That,” he says quietly, “is an excellent suggestion.”

In the private room, Darling pours them both champagne and though Rogers means to refuse, he doesn’t put up much of a fight and soon takes the glass and drinks. It goes to his head. He can’t remember the last time he drunk alcohol. He smiles as he sets the glass down.

Darling is sitting in an armchair. He’s wearing a navy suit, still fully dressed apart from a loosened tie and unfastened top button. Rogers is still in the same tiny underwear he ended his dance in. As he straightens up, he’s standing between Darling’s spread legs. There’s some music playing, just enough of a soft beat that he can move his hips to it. He closes his eyes as he moves, then arches his spine, enjoying the feeling of being watched so closely more than he’d ever suspected he might.

There’s a no touching policy at Hot Boys. When Darling puts a hand on Rogers’s thigh, Rogers' eyes snap open. He looks down. Looks at the spot where Darling’s touch feels like it’s burning. He swallows. “You can’t touch me,” he says. 

“I told you,” Darling says, not moving his hand. “I own the place.”

Rogers looks away from Darling’s hand and into his eyes. “Still.”

Darling moves his fingers, ghosting them over Rogers’s bare skin. He shivers. Goose bumps rise where Darling is touching him. “And if that’s not enough to persuade you, how about this.” Darling's fingers slip around Rogers’s thigh, slip up under the edge of his underwear trail over his ass. “I know who you are, Officer Rogers.”

Rogers gulps. “What? How could you know that?” He realises too late he should have denied it. But his head is still swimming from the champagne. He feels like his thoughts are jumbled, his brain is slow, squelchy. He’s suddenly scared.

Weaver had briefed him on how risky this job might be. Darling was a dangerous man. People around him ended up in the ER, or the morgue, often enough that his business practices was clear. The last undercover cop Darling caught out had every bone in his body broken by Darling’s heavies. 

Still smiling, still caressing Rogers’s ass, Darling says, “Oh, I know you better than you know yourself, Officer. I know all about you. Come upstairs. I have a room. For special guests.”

“What? I don’t understand,” Rogers says, thoughts still dull and slow. “What did you say?”

“I said come upstairs,” says Darling, leaning back and taking his hand off Rogers. “And what I meant was, come upstairs and get on your knees and suck my fucking dick, pirate.”

Rogers drops onto a low stool behind him, knees weak, feeling like standing up is becoming too much. “That’s what you do with undercover cops?”

“Oh, no,” says Darling, “no, not at all. I usually have a couple of my men drag them into the parking lot and beat them half to death with baseball bats.” He reaches out and puts his hand on Rogers shaking jaw. “For the special ones, I have my men hold them and I use the bat myself. And don’t think I wouldn’t enjoy that.” Darling leans forward and pushes his thumb into Rogers’s mouth. Rogers isn’t sure why this feels so natural. “You know, pirate,” Darling continues, “there were times, back when I used to own you, that I’d have you flogged for my pleasure, night after night.” This made no sense, but Rogers's mouth is busy so he says nothing. Pan leans closer, whispers softer, “I still think of those nights. Of you, lashed to your own mast, moaning, drunk on pain, begging for more. Dear god, you were magnificent.” Darling takes a breath. “Pirate, I’ve missed you. So much.” And he leans even closer, slips his thumb out of Rogers’s mouth and kisses him. 

When he leant back from the kiss, Rogers was panting. Darling says, “So which is it to be?”

Rogers stares, “What?”

“Would you like to come upstairs with me, or shall I have you beaten?”

Rogers’s mouth moves wordlessly, then he says. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“But you want to.”

“I, no,” Rogers manages.

Darling quirks a half smile. “How about I offer a different deal, just for you, for old times. You make me sentimental, pirate. Forget the baseball bat. Forget the parking lot. How about this: I'll let you leave with your beautiful body unblemished. But if you leave now, believe me, you can never come back. You can never see me again. I’ll never touch you again. You’ll never find out how well I know you, or how hard I’ll fuck your throat.”

Rogers swallows.

“So?”

“Upstairs,” Rogers whispers. “I’ll come upstairs.”

**Author's Note:**

> https://mathildia.tumblr.com
> 
> I love Captain Pan


End file.
